


Win-Win

by tilda



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-01
Updated: 2009-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilda/pseuds/tilda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: 'Penalty games, "You lose"'.</p><p><span class="small">Written 07/07, for the Springkink challenge</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Win-Win

Kishimoto always wins.

Yuki has come close to beating him, but still hasn't managed it. So when Kishimoto suggests a penalty game, something in his tone – smug, paternal – trips a switch inside Yuki. Yeah, he gets that Kishimoto's trying to coach him, that he thinks the penalty will spur Yuki on, but Kishimoto's kind gaze makes him want to hit something.

So he tells Kishimoto what he thinks the penalty should be, and watches for the reaction. A rush of blood to the face and a clenching of the jaw, followed by righteous anger and a short moment of helpless curiosity (but not so short that Yuki doesn't catch it), and finally, a stiff little explanation that Yuki's suggestion is unsuitable. Yuki feels a small victory.

'OK, so what did you have in mind?' he sighs.

Kishimoto tells him.

Yuki always forgets how sharp Kishimoto is. To anyone else, his suggestion wouldn't sound like a penalty. But Yuki knows Kishimoto thought this up with Yuki in mind. Yuki is irritated to find that he quite likes the idea of Kishimoto having Yuki in mind, even for thinking up penalties.

 

~

 

Yuki loses, as they both knew he would.

 

~

 

Dinner in the Kishimoto household is terrifyingly formal, even on a week-night.

Usually Yuki battles chop-sticks with his sister over whatever they've dug out of the freezer in their fluorescent-lit kitchen. At Kishimoto's he has to learn the moves of a sedate but complicated choreography of bowing, eye-catching and bowl-passing. There seems to be an agreed moment when it's okay to start eating each course, which he misses every time. At one point, he finds himself wondering if there is a correct number of breaths he should be taking between each mouthful. The dining-room is so tastefully lit that the light seems to emerge out of nowhere, and instead of a jarring clatter, the bowls and plates make an exquisite chiming sound when they accidentally touch.

'You are hungry, Mitani-kun?' prompts Kishimoto's mother.

'No. Not especially,' he lies. He knows he ought to say something nice about the food, but he doesn't.

Later, Kishimoto's dad asks him which salons he goes to, and has heard of one or two that Yuki names. He plays in a different area of the city, he says. Yuki knows the kinds of places he means: clean, light, above ground. Kishimoto's mum compliments him on his shirt and remarks on what an unusual school-uniform it is. He has a moment of honesty and explains it isn't regulation. Her hand pauses momentarily in passing a bowl to her husband but then she smiles and says 'Kaoru doesn't often have his friends over. It was a surprise the other day when he asked if he could invite you for dinner.'

The _other_ day?

Yuki looks sharply at Kishimoto, who is suddenly concentrating on moving fish-bones carefully to one side of his plate.

'I was pleased to be invited,' he says automatically.

Kishimoto's dad says 'Kaoru tells us you have made great progress over the last few months.' He knows he should make some modest speech to the Kishimotos that if he's any better, it's all down to their son's coaching.

'Yeah, I have,' he says instead. Their mild smiles don't waver.

They tell Yuki about the history of go in their family. Apparently Kishimoto's grandfather was one of the greats. Yuki must look sceptical because Kishimoto explains it was his maternal grandfather and says a name that makes Yuki nearly cough out his mouthful of rice.

Hearing Kishimoto addressed as Kaoru makes Yuki blush for some reason.

~

At last it's over, and they go to Kishimoto's room. Unsurprisingly, it's neat and featureless as a pin. The blotter and pencil-jar are aligned, the books alphabetised, and the futon rolled away in a corner. There is a goban of course. Its legs are unusually carved, the colour of the wood is deep, and the surface worn. There are two goke resting on top of it, waiting. Yuki can tell that the set is very old. The colour is like nothing he's seen before, the wood seeming to glow from inside. Without thinking he goes over to it and sits down. He touches the surface gingerly. It's beautiful.

'It is, isn't it?' Kishimoto sits opposite and pushes a goke towards Yuki. Yuki didn't think he had spoken out loud. 'Shall we play?' Kishimoto says. They nigiri, but before they start, Kishimoto suggests quietly, not looking at Yuki, 'Let's play for a penalty again.'

'OK,' he replies carefully, 'But I get to pick the penalty this time.' Or god knows what Kishimoto will make him do. Suggest Yuki issue his parents a return invite. Make him wear his uniform straight. Cut his hair.

After a long pause Kishimoto says, 'Why not make it the penalty you suggested this afternoon.'

Yuki suddenly feels like he's been playing one-colour-go all evening. He looks up to find Kishimoto looking straight at him. He feels something pulse heavily inside his body. 'OK,' he replies, just managing to hold Kishimoto's gaze. He has a sudden impulse to hold onto the goban, as if it was the handrail on an express train. Kishimoto inclines his head. 'Onegaishimasu' he says. Yuki responds in kind and they begin to play.

It takes until about halfway through the game before Yuki realises just how fast they are playing, and that it's not him who set the pace. He tries not to think too hard about why Kishimoto might be playing so fast because whatever the reasons, it means he has a chance of winning. The chance flickers like a light just out of his line of vision. He has seen this light once or twice before while playing Kishimoto but always found it vanishes as soon as he looks directly at it. He concentrates on the game this time, swept up in its rhythm, feeling like he can breathe for once. He's never been able to play at Kishimoto's stately pace. For the first time since he stopped playing for money Yuki feels his heart beating.

And then finally he stares down at the goban, at the straight rows of stones framing his territory. It's larger than Kishimoto's by one moku. He suppresses a smile. 'You lose,' he says ungraciously. He can't help himself.

Kishimoto doesn't seem put out. 'Thank you for the game,' he says, just as he always does, bowing slightly. His gaze rests on Yuki and then without even an attempt at a post-match discussion, he says, 'Would you like to claim your penalty?'

In the speed of the game Yuki had forgotten, but apparently Kishimoto hadn't and Yuki lets his suspicions flower: Kishimoto played so fast because he _couldn't wait._ Yuki stares fixedly at the goban, clenching his jaw. He's always wanted to see Kishimoto ruffled, see him lose his composure, it's why he suggested the penalty in the first place, but this is something else. Finally, he looks up to meet Kishimoto's gaze.

'Yeah,' he says.

Then he leans across the goban. Before he is halfway across, Kishimoto's mouth lands on his, slightly off-centre, wetting the corner of his lips. Yuki breathes out a 'woah' and Kishimoto pulls away, saying 'I'm sorry' and looking dangerously close to taking off his glasses for a polish.

Yeah, this is going to be a walkover. Yuki reaches out to draw Kishimoto back.

'S'okay,' he whispers against Kishimoto's lips.

He has forgotten, if he ever knew, that as well as a pair of glasses and a patronising expression, Kishimoto is skin and muscle and blood. As they kiss, the realisation breaks over Yuki like a tropical wave, heating his whole body. He can feel Kishimoto's fingers touching his face and his kiss is careful and curious, as if Yuki is a new economics theory he has never come across before. Yuki flickers his tongue experimentally inside Kishimoto's mouth and the wet heat of it gives him a hard-on so quickly it's like there's a direct line between his tongue and his cock. Kishimoto inhales in surprise and Yuki waits for him to pull away, but on the exhale he presses closer and suddenly Yuki feels his mouth levered open and Kishimoto's tongue sweeps in, stroking against his. It sends sparks shocking over his body and Yuki can feel his own hand -- the one that isn't fisted in Kishimoto's hair -- splayed flat on the goban, destroying the shapes of the game they have just played. He hears somebody whimper and thinks it might have been him.

OK, this isn't how it was supposed to go.

Yuki leans in, trying to gain the advantage, but Kishimoto only presses back and Yuki gives up. They kiss like this - deep, open-mouthed - for some minutes. Yuki is not sure at what point his brain evaporates completely.

And then Kishimoto pulls away to speak. 'Shall we stop?' he asks, his breathing disordered.

'What?' Yuki asks back dumbly.

'The penalty was a kiss. I understand if you do not wish to go further. But if we do this much longer, I won't be able to…' Kishimoto pauses and looks away. 'To hold back,' he finishes.

Yuki only leans forward minutely, but it's enough and they fall on each other. Their kissing gains a frantic edge: Kishimoto is making impatient little noises and Yuki's hard-on is trapped and uncomfortable and he has to move. Kishimoto must have the same idea because he slides the goban out of the way (absently, Yuki hears stones pattering on the tatami) and they scramble towards each other. Things start to go very fast. Yuki feels a firm grip on his upper arms and in one movement he finds himself sitting astride Kishimoto, with Kishimoto's mouth clamped against his throat. As he winds his fingers through Kishimoto's hair and holds on with his thighs he registers dizzily that Kishimoto must be stronger than he thought.

And then their mouths are together again and they are grinding against each other, and Yuki is obeying only his body now as his fingers slide pointlessly over Kishimoto's back, trying to get a grip on his shirt to tug it free. Kishimoto seems to understand and moves them both apart slightly and begins to unbutton Yuki's shirt. Yuki watches him tear each one off at the thread (now he absently hears the patter of buttons on tatami) and feels Kishimoto's hand slip inside his shirt. His palm is shockingly large and hot against Yuki's back. He knows he wants to put some part, any part, of Kishimoto's body into his mouth, but the idea of getting both of them undressed enough seems mountainously complicated, so he makes do with suckling on Kishimoto's earlobe.

This is definitely not how things were supposed to go.

He nips Kishimoto's ear and hears a gasp. The sound goes straight to his cock, and he cants his hips forward as far as he can, desperate for the right angle and more pressure and then Kishimoto is there, moving under him, grinding upwards, circling his hips and pressing their erections together and Yuki can only think _yes yes yes_ and then _oh fuck did I say that out loud_ and then nothing, because he is taken over by Kishimoto's rhythm and follows it helplessly, his hands bunching up in the shoulders of Kishimoto's shirt and panting over his collar (and wondering vaguely how he is half-undressed and Kishimoto has managed to keep his clothes on) until this sweet, pulsing pressure is more than he can stand and one final upward thrust is enough to send him over the edge and he's coming and coming and gritting out a cry against his will. And Kishimoto has won, he has won again, but right now Yuki cannot bring himself to care. He hears a gasp and thinks he has bitten down too hard on Kishimoto's shoulder but Kishimoto is surging up against him and holding him so tight he is almost crushing the breath from his lungs and Yuki realises the descending sigh of effort in his ear is Kishimoto coming, coming like he does everything else, quietly and powerfully.

Gradually, they still. Yuki releases his death-grip on Kishimoto's shoulders and Kishimoto loosens his cobra-embrace and they move apart to rest their foreheads together. And as Yuki listens to their shaky breaths and feels Kishimoto's hand trembling slightly as he takes it slowly from inside Yuki's shirt, he thinks that it might, just might, be a draw.


End file.
